round the corner,
through the threshold--
a sea of pastels,
but I'm in red.
My throat swells.

Why do they stare?
Can they see?
If they could hear my thoughts,
would they like the real me?

My heart climbs
into my neck
I tell my brain:
hit the deck,
I'm under attack.

My heartbeat slows
and I can breathe.
But the fact remains:
the monster's inside me

waiting for its next move
it will come out to play.
maybe when it rains
worse yet, on a sunny day.

There's no telling
when it will call.
I'll try not to answer,
but I always fall
into its trap,
so finely laid.
So I wait and I wait
for the panic to fade.